Discombobulate
by YnitOcelot
Summary: When Bodie is knocked out during a bar fight he wakes up to find Doyle gone. Cowley is strangely unresponsive on his disappearance and Bodie vows to uncover what happened. Is Doyle in danger? Is Cowley involved or is the truth far more insidious than Bodie thinks? Most of all, what happened that night?
1. Chapter 1

**Last night I had the strangest dream **

**I ever dreamed before **

**I dreamed the world had all agreed **

**To put an end to war.**

Simon and Garfunkel – Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream.

* * *

The jukebox pumped out jaunty music that was partially lost by the chatter of the pub crowd. Cheerfully Bodie clunked the quickly-being-drained mug of beer down on the table letting the noise wash over him. Doyle eyed his pint moodily, alternating between drinking and ignoring it. He was obviously brooding over the end of the operation, Bodie swallowed his pint. The idiot they'd been tailing for the last three weeks had suddenly gone off, (let's face it, Bodie thought, he had been a walking time bomb, we should've seen it) got his gun and started trying to shoot them up, he hit one of their own men, he was badly hurt – critical but stable. That was probably the reason for Doyle's black mood. Admittedly Bodie was slightly ashamed at his lack of concern but the doctors had been positive with their comments so it was likely he was going to scrape through. He shrugged and downed the dregs of the pint in one. "Whose round is it?" Doyle offered a sly half smile.

"Yours," he said with finality, "you know, I still haven't forgiven you for the time with the spiked orange juice."

"Maybe I shouldn't buy the round in case I do that again," Bodie teased. Doyle raised his eyebrows and gave Bodie a casual two fingers. Bodie stuck his tongue out at him and sauntered off towards the bar, pushing past other patrons as politely as possible, before finding himself leaning on the polished oak facing the solid barkeeper.

"What'd be?" the man asked in faint Belfast accent.

"Two pints please."

"Right." Bodie turned around, not bothering to watch as the man filled the mugs up from the tap. Instead something else caught his eye. A group of four sturdy men had been sitting round the table; they looked like brawlers to Bodie and while he didn't have Doyle's copper's instinct he could tell that they were spoiling for a fight. Abruptly he realised that he was staring and hastily looked away. Too late.

"Oi! You!" Bodie sighed and turned back towards the biggest man. He looked like Prince Vultan out of _Flash Gordon_. He really wasn't in the mood for this. "What are you lookin' at?"

"Nothing," Bodie answered indifferently, "I'll just get my pints and be on my way then."

"Coward!" Thank God it wasn't Ray in this position, Bodie decided, he probably elect to go a few rounds with the ape for the insult. He could feel the annoyance beginning to build up inside him but he quickly pushed it away. Bodie tried to push his way past but the man grabbed his arm. The beer slopped out of the mugs and over Bodie's shirt. Bodie groaned. He really liked that shirt. "Where're you goin' sunshine?"

"Let's all just calm down alright, boyo?"

"Stay out of this Grandpa!" The man shoved viciously and Bodie stumbled back, dropping the mugs. They shattered on the floor. As if this was a signal the room erupted into chaos.

Bodie weaved under the man's punch, bringing up his knee into the unprotected groin. Two were facing off against him and he flicked his gaze between them, trying to figure out their next move. Glass crunched under his shoes as he ducked one flying fist, driving another back in response. The barman had backed away and Bodie hoped he was going to phone the police.

_Christ Doyle, I could use some help here!_

One of the thugs had leapt up onto the bar and Bodie – still hemmed in by the other two – caught the entirety of the force. His head smacked sickeningly into the wood of the bar, stars danced briefly in his vision and nausea burned in his throat. As he slipped into oblivion he heard the sirens singing.

A bright, clinical light seared in Bodie's eyes as he blinked them open. For a moment his heart fluttered in panic, before the familiar smell of antiseptic hit him. He was in hospital. He pushed himself up onto elbows, wincing as a sharp bolt of lightning shot through his head. "Mr Bodie, you shouldn't be exerting yourself,"

"Wha'?" Bodie brought a hand up to his head to find a thick bandage pinned there.

"You've had a nasty knock to the head, Mr Bodie," the nurse glared at him disapprovingly as he started to swing his legs off the bed to find he was dressed in a hospital gown. Embarrassed, he quickly pulled the sheet back up.

"How long have I been out?" he asked warily. The nurse shook her head critically as she scribbled down some notes on a clipboard.

"If you do insist on getting knocked out during _bar brawls, _Mr Bodie," her tone left no doubt about her lack of sympathy, "I'd say you were lucky with only an hour, someone's having a broken arm fixed. Of course we are going to have to keep you in for observation…"

"Wait, how many people were hurt?"

"Two or three Mr Bodie – you are not allowed out of bed! – but nothing particularly serious happened." Bodie frowned before quickly cutting off her spiel about 'idiots drinking and then fighting and goodness knows what else' with;

"Did anyone come in with me?" The nurse stopped her blethering to stare pointedly. "Was there a curly haired bloke? Calls himself Ray Doyle?"

"No, we only found out who you were because of your driver's licence. Now you just relax and I'll get a doctor to check you over, alright?"

"What about the injured?"

The nurse sighed, "What about the injured?"

"Was one of them –"

"I don't know Mr Bodie," the nurse was glancing around the ward, obviously she needed to check up on other patients, write reports and suchlike, she didn't have time to keep chattering away like a sparrow. "I'll tell you what, if you promise not to get up until the doctor gets here, I'll take a look alright? I'll ask around for you but you have to stay in that bed!" Bodie nodded meekly; well aware that was the best he was going to get.

"Thanks," he muttered.

When the nurse strode briskly off Bodie lay back on the white sheets, breathing the dry sterile smell of the hospital as his brain began to whirr.

Doyle wouldn't have left him. That was irrefutable. If Doyle hadn't been hurt he would've come with him to hospital, waited, alternating between worrying or chatting up the nurses and when Bodie had woken would have responded with a less than friendly put-down. Maybe he had been hurt in the fight and was getting fixed up by someone. If Doyle was the one with the broken arm Cowley was going to have their hides. He exhaled distractedly, running the situation over in his head. If Doyle was hurt he would be here – but if he wasn't?... A wave of nausea hit him and he wasn't sure whether it was it the head or his thoughts. Slowly he let himself sink down in the darkness.

The doctors refused to sign him out and Bodie's infuriated attempt to discharge himself was quickly thwarted by the ward nurse. After being pointedly told to go back to bed he lay awake most of the night, thinking things over. He was brought breakfast by the nurse from the night before.

"Did you…" Bodie began; unsure which answer would be better. The nurse shook her head regretfully.

"No one with that name was brought in last night Mr Bodie," she said. Bodie sat back, unsure how to react.

_Where are you Doyle?_

After he was finally allowed out of the stuffy hospital the first thing Bodie did was contact the CI5 switchboard. When Karen answered with her usual cheery self, he asked;

"Has 4-5 called in?"

"No," Karen sounded confused, "should he have?" Bodie paused momentarily before answering breezily,

"No, it's fine, I'm on my way to his house anyway."

"Do you want me to contact him for you?"

"No, no it's ok." He was about to sign off when Karen remembered something.

"Oh 3-7, I've got a message for you from Alpha One," Bodie groaned, screwing up his eyes.

Eventually he hazarded, "what is it, or do I have to guess?" Karen sighed deeply, trying not to smile.

"He said, 'tell 3-7 that if that happens again I'll have him on a four week training course with Macklin,'"

"Ouch," Bodie winced, ""I am going to murder that scrawny little bugger. Think I can weasel out of the rollicking I'm gonna get?" He could imagine Karen's eye roll,

"With your blarney, possibly. Out."

"Out," He thumbed the radio and placed it on the seat beside him. He was only a five minute drive away from Doyle's house and he was planning on strangling Doyle when he got there.

The door was locked. Bodie leaned against the buzzer, intent on annoying his partner's curls off. However, after about five minutes of waiting later, no Doyle had appeared. Either, Bodie decided, he was ignoring him or he wasn't home. Bodie slipped his hand into his pockets while he debated what to do. Doyle would not be best pleased if he broke into his flat, especially for no reason but wanting to know why that miserable sod had left him in the hospital. Checking his watch he realised that he hadn't actually gone home yet, it would do him good to have a shower and change of clothes. The car tooled away from the pavement and into the slow-moving traffic.

It wasn't long before Bodie noticed that Doyle was absent from the CI5 restroom. So he went looking for him. Maybe he was in the computer room checking a file. No. Perhaps he was having lunch in the canteen. He wasn't there either. Games room? No Doyle there. He wasn't in the typing pool and Cowley was out so he couldn't be in his office and Bodie was pretty sure he wasn't out anywhere checking up some elusive lead. All-in-all, Bodie was stumped.

"Hey Bodie!" Murphy came jogging up towards him, "heard you were in a bar fight. Cowley is going to skin you alive, mate, you better start running." Bodie chuckled half-heartedly but before Murphy could get in another jab asked,

"Have you seen Doyle?"

"Doyle?" Murphy asked.

"Yeah, Ray Doyle, about this height, looks like he has just been electrocuted, likes to call himself my partner."

"Ohh, that Doyle," Murphy replied with a twinkle in his eye, "nah, haven't seen him. Surely the Cow hasn't got him out chasing villains?"

"I dunno," Bodie replied, "I haven't seen him since last night." Murphy shrugged.

"He was called in by Cowley last night,"

"Really?" Bodie replied, still scanning the door in vain for the curly hair, "what about?" Murphy gave him a very serious look.

"Do you know what Cowley would do if he thought I was spying on him?" Bodie raised his eyebrow at that, still idly processing where Doyle might be, when his brain caught up with him.

Recognising Murphy's smug grin in his voice he repeated, "What did he say?"

"Dunno, couldn't hear."

Doyle didn't turn up for the entire day. Bodie's aggravation had by now melted away to worry and so when he got in his car to drive home he found himself pulling up outside Doyle's flat. Annoyed, he switched off the engine and sat there, mulling over his thoughts as the heavy rain pattered on his car.

"I don't want to see him," he muttered to himself, "If he wants to mope then that's his business." But he couldn't seem to get the energy mustered to drive away. Perhaps he would have driven away eventually. Maybe he would've gone to the pub or just home to his warm bed. But Bodie couldn't stop himself from looking up. All the lights were off. As he took a moment to ponder why this had grabbed him he realised – this either meant that Doyle was asleep or wasn't home. He hadn't been home this morning either. Bodie's mind was made up and he leapt from the car, ignoring the rain that splattered against his leather windcheater, running up the stairs. He thumped on the buzzer a few times but barely waited for a response. Doubling back he made for the half-rusted fire escape, the metal clanging out under his feet.

The flat was dark. Bodie fished inside his jacket for his picks, the water cascading out of his hair, squinting at the room, hoping that he was going to see Doyle come storming out his bedroom with a vicious shout of 'BODIE!' There was no movement. Cursing, Bodie stumbled inside the window, banging it closed behind him.

"Doyle?" His voice sounded extraordinarily loud in the silence. He padded forward into the darkness, his hand fumbling for the light switch. His gun appeared is if by magic in his fist. Erring on the side of caution he checked each room, his breath catching in his throat. Everything was neat and tidy; there were no disturbances, no signs of a struggle or even anything to suggest that anything was any different from how it usually was. But when Bodie – out of desperation for some answers – had a look inside Doyle's chest of drawers the clothes he had been wearing last night were curiously absent. It could only mean one thing.

Last night, Ray Doyle had not come home.

* * *

For anyone reading this, don't worry, I am going to write more but I'm going to put it up in chapters, just to increase the tension. Each chapter will have lyrics from a song by Simon and/or Garfunkel so I suggest you look them up. Thank you.

PS Nothing belongs to me, except the story idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Through the corridors of sleep**

**Past the shadows dark and deep**

**My mind dances and leaps in confusion.**

**I don't know what is real,**

**I can't touch what I feel**

**And I hide behind the shield of my illusion.**

Simon and Garfunkel – Flowers Never Bend With the Rainfall

* * *

An utterly soaked and confused Bodie sank back into his car, his mind whirling desperately. Something must have happened, something bad. The 'bad' thing seemed to grow in his head, smashing through his rational thoughts and he sat, frozen, his hands gripping the steering wheel until the knuckles blanched into white skulls. It took a while for him to kick his brain back into gear. Finally the car lurched away from the pavement, his brain still spinning with horrifying possibilities. He glanced at his watch; seven thirty ticked back at him. Cowley would most likely still be in his office, plenty of time for Bodie to get in and tell him. With this thought spurring him on his car roared down the streets of London, terrifying every other driver.

As he sprinted his way into HQ, his mind was vividly turning over the worst case scenarios, Doyle bleeding out in some dark basement, Doyle floating face first in the murky Thames, Doyle held hostage by some faceless sadist, Doyle hurt and lost…Doyle failing…Doyle…

Why was it that Bodie's imagination was _clear_ when it came to Doyle? Why was it so easy for him to picture these horrors? He pushed the thoughts away as he skidded to a stop outside Cowley's office. Sheer habit made him stop and rap as politely as he could manage. "Come in!" Bodie shoved the door open and stumbled in. Everything looked completely normal, it was jarring. Cowley glanced up at Bodie; a frown dinting between his eyebrows. "Bodie, I assume there's a reason for you bursting into here?"

"Yes!" Bodie shouted. Cowley opened his mouth and he hastily added; "sir." He swallowed.

"Then what is it, man?"

"Doyle's missing, sir," It was relief to say it. Cowley looked back at him; his face barely moved but Bodie felt the temperature drop perceptibly.

"Missing?" Cowley queried, "What do you mean?"

"I mean gone, disappeared," he took a breath, "maybe taken." Cowley stood and pulled his glasses off. He stared at Bodie.

"Why do you think that, Bodie?" Bodie eyed him. Something was off about this conversation. He couldn't put his finger on it but something was definitely wrong.

"Last night, he was with me in the pub. I lost sight of him just before the fight. He's not in the hospital sir, I checked. He wasn't here today and he isn't at home. It's like he's vanished sir." Cowley shuffled the papers on his desk and seemed to be thinking.

"Why do you think he's been kidnapped? He might have-"

"Doyle wouldn't have done a runner!" Bodie yelled, "D-Doyle wouldn't have just upped and left! Why would he? Besides, sir, he hasn't been home!" Cowley watched him shrewdly as he began to pace;

"I never said that, Bodie."

"Yeah, well…" he flustered, his fingers curling into fists. "He hasn't gone rogue either, _sir_,"

"And how exactly do you know that?" Cowley asked. Every syllable was sharp and clear, bombarding Bodie's armour.

"I know Ray."

"And I knew Barry Martin." There was no answer to that. Bodie puffed out his cheeks, trying to regain his momentum. His pace sped up, and he turned away from Cowley.

"If he was going to do a runner or – or go rogue wouldn't he go back and pick up his stuff? Nothing's been taken and his gun's still in the cupboard – and the cupboard's locked. Something's happened." Cowley sighed and rubbed his forehead. Bodie stood opposite, anger radiating off of him. Not hot, but freezing cold.

"I'll get Murphy on it." Bodie swung around, his face icy.

"Why not me, sir?" Each word was bitten off, as if he was trying to hold his feelings in check.

"Because you are emotionally involved!" Cowley gazed back at him, almost impassively Bodie thought. "Och lad, you might miss something vital. Anyway, I need you to get down to Records; Whyte will meet you down there," when Bodie glanced sharply at him and the clock he added; "I assume until this is cleared up you will be staying here." Cowley knew his agent. Bodie stood stock still, staring at his boss.

Of course he hadn't expected Cowley to pull out all the stops to look for Doyle, but this was definitely not how he had thought this conversation would go. Cowley's cool assurances were not very reassuring. Cowley had sat down and was leafing through a file on his desk, focussing on the words. "Why are you still here 3-7?" Bodie walked to the door. As he pushed it open a thought struck him.

"What did you talk to Doyle about? Last night?"

"3-7…" Sensing he was only going to make things worse, Bodie quickly scarpered, boiling with incandescent rage. Cowley waited until the footsteps died away, sighed heavily and then reached for the phone.

* * *

Bodie stalked through the corridors terrifying typists and tech-savvy agents alike. Every hair on his head had risen, like the hackles of an animal. Cowley! Bloody Cowley! Something was definitely wrong. Of course, Doyle wouldn't do a runner – oh he might ruminate and be withdrawn and anti-social for a while but, well, why would he run? He couldn't have gone rogue either. The sod was too moral for that. He'd drown in guilt first.

_But he's been very remote lately._

_Well, he's been worrying about Harry._

_Not that he and Harry were particularly friendly…_

_When has that mattered? _

_Still…_

"Shut up," Bodie said out loud.

Bodie paused outside the door leading to Records. He placed his hand on the doorknob and was about to turn it when a very nasty thought struck him.

_What if Cowley's involved?_

Bodie tensed up as this made its way through his brain. That was perfidious. He'd always trusted the old man before – even when Ray hadn't – and defended him against prying ministers and other agents. But Cowley's expression when he'd told him nudged against his mind. He hadn't seemed ruffled but there was something about the stance, the eyes, and the barely perceptible aura of wrongness that had sent Bodie's head spinning. Why would Cowley arrange a disappearance – especially one of his best men's? He shook his head to try and clear it. It was nonsense, absolute nonsense.

Unless it was one of Cowley's triple thinks.

Either way, he had to find out. He doubled back along the corridor, his plan firmly in his mind.

Bodie didn't go home that night. Instead after an hour and a half of flicking through reports and fifteen minutes kip Bodie dodged the watchman and ran into the night. The traffic was light but the darkness seemed impenetrable. Cowley would notice his absence of course but Bodie didn't really care. Hopefully he wouldn't find the bug he'd planted in his office on his way out. The thick, driving sheets of rain had lessened to a fine mist. Where to first? Check up a few old friends he supposed. He slammed his foot down and the car leapt forwards. A grim smile graced Bodie's lips. If anyone tried to hide the whereabouts of Ray… well, they had him to deal with.

It was the early hours when Bodie finally stumbled into his flat, angry and no closer to finding where Ray had gone. He tore off his jacket, tossed it onto the sofa and then sank after it. He sat there, clasping his hands, trying to think where else he could go to look. No one had talked to him; nobody knew where Doyle was. The tiny nagging fear amplified but Bodie pushed it away – just like he pushed away the horrific images and the terror that he could already be too late. Finally in pure frustration he stamped out into his hallway and slammed his fist into the wall. His knuckles grazed and a small rivulet of blood began to trickle over the fingers. He opened his eyes and started, his reflection stared back. He looked tired, no wonder, he'd only had about two and a quarter hours sleep yesterday. Reflecting on his reflection; that sounded like some learned comment Doyle would come up with. He was about to turn away when something caught his eye. It was just a spark, a memory like an afterimage left by a camera flash. Doyle. He swore and stepped around, searching the dimness of his flat. Nothing.

Of course there was nothing. He'd had these before, when he was tired and he was tired but he couldn't spare an hour's sleep – he knew that. He also knew that if he did try to nap he would just sleep on. He couldn't afford to do that. But finally the exhaustion won out and he fell onto the sofa, his last lingering thoughts were a silent prayer that tonight's failures would not devastating in his search.

That they would not affect how he found his missing partner.

* * *

**The mirror on my wall**

**Casts an image dark and small**

**But I'm not sure at all it's my reflection.**

**I am blinded by the light**

**Of God and truth and right**

**And I wander in the night without direction.**


	3. Chapter 3

Three days. Three bloody long days. Bodie knew he couldn't avoid Cowley much longer and he was dreading the confrontation. But if Cowley was involved in Doyle's disappearance he wanted to keep away from him as long as possible. If Cowley could he would be giving him orders to keep him busy and Bodie didn't want that. He had to keep looking for Doyle.

Instead he was now lounging uncomfortably inside one of the seedier London pubs, his coat buttoned up to his neck to combat the dampness that inevitably invaded such neglected places. A few dark and glittering eyes watched him suspiciously from the shadows but most of patrons drank like there was no tomorrow. Bodie kept his arms elevated off the sticky bar top and waited, tension clutching at his stomach. He ordered a watery beer just to keep the barman happy but he didn't touch the grimy glass. The stuttering music just set his teeth on edge and he found himself remembering that last bar he'd been in. Idly Bodie thought of the men who had initiated the fight; at the time he'd assumed they had been intoxicated and just spoiling for some action but now he really thought on it, they hadn't sounded like they had been. In fact, he had sounded… sober. An idea glimmered just out of reach; Bodie closed his eyes trying desperately to grasp the elusive clue. It wiggled and danced maddeningly behind his eyes, taunting him. He was nearly there… "Bodie."

Bodie started out of his contemplation, his training compelling his hand into his jacket before he recognised the voice. He swivelled around in his seat to see a mousy haired man in his mid-thirties slide into the seat next to him.

"Charlie, couldn't we meet somewhere clean for once?" The man smiled but it didn't quite reach his grey eyes.

"Why? Don't you like this place? I thought you'd feel right at home," he answered bluntly, "what is it this time? I thought we agreed only to meet in emergencies." Bodie shifted his shoulders dismissively.

"I need information Charlie." The shabby man smiled again. Waving his hand for a beer, he glanced towards the door and lowered his voice.

"What's it worth?" Bodie rubbed his ear, momentarily unsure how to answer.

"A bit," he assured the man. Charlie raised an eyebrow.

"A bit to your organisation or to you?" He was surprising shrewd for an informer. When Bodie didn't respond he said, "Alright, I guess I don't really need to know that do I? What do you want?" he glanced around the bar again before picking up the beer.

"Doyle. Ray Doyle. Anything filtered through to you?" Charlie choked on his beer. The watery swill dribbled out of his coughing mouth and he hastily swiped his sleeve across his face, only succeeding in spreading it on his lips. Surprise coated his face, mixing with the liquid.

"What's he done? A runner?"

"Innocent until proven guilty," Bodie intoned quickly. Charlie laughed bitterly at him.

"Nice you have so much faith." The agent looked away hastily, frustration and anger boiling in his stomach.

"I guess you haven't heard anything then," Bodie snapped. He stood up almost knocking over his forgotten drink. Charlie grabbed his arm.

"Wait Bodie, you know I wasn't keen on the sod but how long have we been mates?" At Bodie's withering glance he amended, "acquaintances then, but you seem pretty sure he's still on the side of the angels. I'll have a look around alright? I can't promise anything but I'll see if I can get a whiff of the bloke." Bodie nodded, the familiar mask settling over his features.

"Ta, I'll be in touch." Then he left the dim establishment and hurried out into the cold. Charlie shook his head and flicked a few more coins onto the stained wood, hearing the Capri's engine roar up and away.

"I'll think I'll need another drink."

Bodie pulled up outside CI5 HQ, his heart thudding in his chest. Another dead end. Another failure. Furiously he slapped his hand down on the dashboard of his car, his hand stung and he gritted his teeth against the irritating pain. Three days. Lots of things could happen in three days to a missing ex-cop and it make Bodie's head hurt to think of them. He slumped down in the car, racking his brains for more places he could go, more people he could lean on. Suddenly someone rapped their knuckles on the window making him jump.

"Oi Bodie, are you coming in or sitting there?" Murphy's cheery voice didn't quite match his face as Bodie climbed out of his car. "Look mate, are you alright?" All he got was a stony glare and he backed away holding his hands up in the air. "Jesus Bodie, I just asked!" Bodie ignored him and hunching his shoulders against the world.

"Bodie." Bodie froze, a silent swear hissing out on his breath. Cowley stood behind him, his legs planted apart, just regarding him. The agent didn't turn around, the hairs on his neck rising like a cornered animal. "Come into my office," Bodie remained silent but began to stalk down the corridor away from his boss, his retreating back daring Cowley to stop him. "It's _important_." Bodie paused at the door to the games room, hearing the undercurrents in the burr. If he walked out now Cowley wouldn't follow him, but he would never know what he could tell him. "Come in, lad," his voice was softer, it was request rather than an order; something Bodie had rarely heard from his boss before. Finally he turned to regard Cowley, he gestured to the open door and both reluctantly and eagerly Bodie moved inside the office.

Cowley sat back in his chair, pulling on his glasses. Bodie stood opposite, glaring at him, waiting for him to say something. His boss bent down and pulled something from a desk drawer. He tossed the item to Bodie who caught it easily. "Recognise it Bodie?" The wiretap blinked accusingly up at him and the agent felt his shoulders droop momentarily.

"Yes sir. I can explain-"

"I'm not interested in your explanations 3-7! Admittedly I understand why you did it, but that does not give you the right to bug me in my own office!"

"Sorry sir," Bodie muttered.

"Like hell you are!" Cowley sighed and rubbed his hand across his face. "I owe you an explanation Bodie." Bodie leaned forward impatiently, excitement bubbling through his veins. On a quick breath he asked;

"Where's Doyle?"

"It was need to know."

"And I didn't need to know," Bodie interrupted vehemently. Cowley glared at him.

"It was safer for Doyle's cover that you didn't know! I have no doubts you're a fine actor Bodie, but I didn't want to put that to the test. It was imperative that he looked like-"

"Like what?" Bodie growled. Cowley looked up at him, meeting the thousand kilowatt blue gaze unflinchingly.

"Like he has defected."

* * *

Ten minutes later Bodie was sitting in the uncomfortable chair, his mind trying to take in everything Cowley had told him. Finally he said haltingly, "So Doyle had to pretend he had switched sides in order to convince Lefebvre that he wanted a cut?" Lefebvre was a dealer, a procurer of arms, drugs or whatever else his buyers fancied, smuggling it from Africa and then across the French-British boarder. So far he had covered his tracks so well that the last time CI5 had brought him in they had been forced to release him due to 'insufficient evidence'. Bodie felt a churn of annoyance in his stomach as he remembered the smug villain giving him the sneaky two fingers from the dock.

"Remember when we brought him in? How he started on at you two about the better pay he could give CI5's agents? Well, I decided to take him up on the promise."

"Why not me then sir?" Cowley waved his hands dismissively.

"While your…background would've been most helpful in your cover, you and Lefebvre did not exactly hit it off while he was under our care." Bodie inclined his head reluctantly, seeing his boss's angle.

"But why couldn't you tell me?" He almost wailed with frustration. The idea not being able to back Doyle up while he was undercover rankled with him in a big way. He hated not being able to watch his partner's back. Cowley glared sternly at him before answering;

"It would be much easier to him and the lad he's working with if we weren't breathing down their necks, it's a joint effort with the Met, but the information's coming through us first." Bodie nodded, one hand pinching his nose. Suddenly a thought struck him – hard. He jumped out his chair and faced Cowley.

"Why now?" when Cowley didn't respond he repeated, "why now? If it's that vital it looks real then why tell me now? Has something happened?" His tone was verging on alarmed. Cowley placed his glasses on the desk and steepled his fingers together.

"Doyle hasn't called in," he held up a hand silencing Bodie's protests, "I know he can't just nip off and radio us anytime but we expected some contact to have been made by the third day."

A horrifying image reared in Bodie's mind, "his cover might've been blown."

"Aye, but we can't know for sure. He might just be biding his time, waiting for an opportunity."

"Or he's getting worked over by Lefebvre's goons," Bodie countered, fury creeping behind his words.

"We can't be sure of anything, but Doyle joined the gang late, the lad – Millstone, DC Millstone – had gathered most of the evidence we needed. But the red tape was restricting his moves so the PM asked us to help. They know we want him as badly as they do." Bodie snorted.

"So what do you propose we do?" he requested icily, "sit and wait for Ray's body to turn up in a shallow grave? Is that your great master plan?" Cowley eyed him coolly.

"Something like that, Bodie. A bad hunter chases while a good hunter waits."

* * *

The early morning mist did nothing to dampen Bodie's fiery anger. The warehouse stood like a hunched giant; silhouetted darkly against the silver sky. The tendrils of mist played across the cold barrel of his gun, condensation dripping into his hot, clenched fist. From his position he could make out the huddled form of Murphy across from him, also moving in as stealthily as a cat.

Only twelve hours after his conversation with Cowley young Millstone had contacted his boss with the news of a drop inside Lefebvre's temporary base; their chance to catch him in _flagrante delicto_ as Cowley had termed it. Red-handed, Bodie thought, hopefully not red with blood. He shivered despite his thick coat, his R/T clutched in one hand, his gun in the other. The mist was rapidly thickening into a soupy fog and Bodie worried about their visibility. He took some comfort from the fact the enemy would be as blind as he was – but not much. Suddenly his R/T crackled and he heard Cowley's whispered order, "Go!"

The fighting was brutal but Lefebvre's men were no match for the well-oiled machine that was CI5. They were quickly overpowered and forced to relinquish their weapons to the police. Bodie stood a little apart from the rest of the group, scanning the room in vain for the curly hair. Cowley had forbidden him to go near Lefebvre, probably because he couldn't afford the French-English man ammo for his crafty lawyers. You could almost see the anger radiating off the silent agent as he watched the gang being loaded into cars, two of them shouting about their rights, the rest quiet, some fearful, some retreating into stony defences, ready for questioning. Bodie shook his head, his gun still levelled at the prisoners; itching to be allowed to check the rooms for his partner.

Finally Cowley strode up to him. "Did you find him?" Bodie asked his anger and badly concealed fear sharpening his words. Cowley shook his head.

"Murphy and Leon are checking now," he assured his man and Bodie was about to let rip his feelings about this when a young man jogged up to them.

"Are you Mr Cowley?" he inquired politely.

"Aye, are you DC Millstone? You've done well." The young man smiled proudly, scratching at his unshaven face. His blond hair was unwashed and lank, keeping in with the character he was playing.

"Thank you sir," His face fell a little as he said, "I thought you were sending in your own agent to help me sir." Bodie physically started, staring at the upstart in surprise.

"We did," Cowley said; confusion clouding his cragged face. Millstone shifted his shoulders inside his jacket noncommittally.

"Nobody showed up sir." Bodie took off running, his heart thumping in his chest, the words boiling in his ears. He reached the van just as Lefebvre was being bundled inside. Shoving one of the police officers away he grabbed the smuggler's shoulders, pinning him up against the side of the van.

"Where's Doyle?" he yelled. Lefebvre's smooth act cracked under Bodie's hands, recognising the tone of voice. He had been worked over by expert on his side of the fence and Bodie shared some of the feral nature they had displayed.

"D-Doyle? What about him?" Bodie hit the man's head against the metal and then inquired again.

"Raymond Doyle! What have you done with him?" Lefebvre tried to squirm away but Bodie's grip was too strong.

"I haven't touched him!" he shouted, "I haven't been near the little bâtard de merde!"

"You're lying!"

"He's not." Bodie turned his head over his shoulder, not releasing his hold. Murphy stood dejectedly behind him, his arms hanging limply by his sides. "I'm so sorry Bodie, but he isn't here. I don't think he ever was." Bodie let go.

* * *

**Oh hang on to your hopes, my friend**

**That's an easy thing to say but if your hopes should pass away**

**Simply pretend that you can build them again**

Simon and Garfunkel – Hazy Shade of Winter


	4. Chapter 4

**A winter's day**

**In a deep and dark December**

**I am alone**

**Gazing from my window**

**To the streets below**

**On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow**

Simon and Garfunkel - I am a Rock

* * *

It was a month before the nightmares came. They slithered, formlessly, behind gauzy dreams, forever probing defences, pressing against the papery walls. All too often they crashed inside his head; his flimsy dreams springing apart like cobwebs. When he woke he woke in a cold sweat; yet he could remember nothing except the dark, and the cold, and the imperative demand to find something – someone. He knew his dreams were graphic; knew that when he was inside he could not distinguish them from life, but he could never recall any details. Except the absence of a face and the destroying feeling that he had arrived too late. He was always too late.

But the worst part was waking to see the shifting early morning shadows, the sigh of relief to find himself safe in his own bed – and then the reality roaring down on him. Doyle was not in his own bed, not safe, still out there in the cold, somewhere. But even his hopes were wavering, knowing the Doyle could be anywhere by now, either under his own will – or not.

Bodie rarely slept full nights now; he'd almost gotten used seeing the world outside his window in faded shades of grey when he fixed himself a mug of tea. Often he didn't finish it. He kept his hands wrapped tightly around the mug long after all the heat had fled into the night, just thinking, planning. Where else could he go? Who else could he talk to? Lean on? He couldn't stop looking. He had to keep searching for his partner – his friend. Just like he always did.

He tried sleeping on the sofa. The nightmares were there too.

* * *

"Bodie," Bodie didn't respond verbally, instead he nodded, a sharp jerk of his head signifying his disdain for this meeting. Dr Kate Ross sat opposite him, her hands clutching papers and biros, watching him over her glasses. Bodie was unshaven, his eyes eclipsed from lack of sleep but still as fit as he had ever been. But there was some strange difference that was hard to put her finger on. Something about the stance, she guessed, Bodie was usually so cheerful and jokey. It was hard not to find him invading someone's personal space to get a reaction or applying some sharp wit to annoy his colleagues. Now he was quiet, drawn-in, not touching anyone. Suppressed fury at the world was still simmering inside the agent. He was dangerous. His work attested to that. He was still quick on the draw – but now he was even quicker with his fists. Some villain would give him lip and he'd lose it; sometimes they goaded him about failure and then he'd hit all the harder. But something had faded inside the man – perhaps it wasn't dead yet, just failing fast.

She glanced down at the file on her desk. Bodie's photo was clipped onto the creased paper, and Dr Ross discovered that she would have found it hard to imagine that man becoming the one slumped in front of her, so much could happen in a month. "Bodie," she said again, "do you know why you're here?"

"Yeah," Bodie drawled, "I'm here because the old man thinks I'm a loony bin."

"I assure you Bodie, that's not the case. You're here for a psychological evaluation due to recent events." Bodie snorted.

"Same meaning." Dr Ross chose to ignore that comment; instead she ploughed on, shuffling the papers inside the binder.

"How are you doing Bodie?" she asked.

"Great," Bodie said sarcastically, "I've had the bloody best month ever, alright?" Dr Ross didn't answer, instead she scribbled; _acerbic, his way of coping_, down in her notes.

"Are you sleeping?"

"No." She took a note.

"Eating?"

"Enough," the pen made another mark on the white. Dr Ross sighed and then took the plunge.

"Do you still believe he's alive?" she glanced up. Bodie's face was set in stone. He didn't answer. Through the fuzzy glass of her firmly-closed door she could just see the edge of the Names Board. The missing – presumed dead.

The Names Board. The newer agents viewed it with a strange mixture of disinterestedness and superstitious awe. They believed they were invincible. The veterans didn't speak about the Names Board – often knowing that was where they might end up one day; just a printed name pinned up on the wall. Nobody ever identifying what happened to them. They were the lost souls.

Finally Bodie ground out, "yes."

"It's been a month, Bodie."

"I think I know how long it's been!" Bodie jumped up, his supressed anger overflowing into a physical form. "I know how long he's been missing, alright?" his tone dropped and she had to lean in to hear his voice. "I've been searching, 'cause I know he's not dead, I've been looking for him and I can't just stop – and – and forget about him!"

"Why can't you stop?" Dr Ross asked. Bodie stared at her as if she was mad. In tones that you would use on a young child he said,

"Doyle would go looking for me. He wouldn't stop." That was true. Doyle looked out for Bodie as much as Bodie looked out for Doyle. "I'm not just going to give up, okay? If that classifies me as some traumatised lunatic then, fine!" He strode over to the door and grasped the door handle.

"If you leave now Bodie, I will be forced to inform Mr Cowley," Dr Ross had a faint flush flaring along her cheekbones. Her threat may have been said with assurance but it barely registered with Bodie.

"Do what you like, nothing I'd like better than to get kicked out of this mob." Then he wrenched the door open with such force that it slammed against the wall.

"Bodie," Cowley's voice floated out of his office. Bodie turned slowly, his eyes still downcast. He sounded tired and in a flash Bodie realised that Doyle's disappearance had affected his boss as well. He may treat all his agents the same but Bodie knew that he and Doyle had strange familiarity with the dour Scotsman. There was a reason for the nickname of Father. He paused in the corridor, feeling electricity crackling up his spine. Somehow he knew that whatever Cowley was going to say wasn't going to good. "Come in lad, it's about Doyle."

The whiskey burned in his throat but Bodie barely tasted it. Cowley watched him as he stood, white-faced and trembling, the glass in his hand threatening to slip out his fingers and smash on the wood underneath his feet. The world seemed to be spinning around him and he took a few deep, fortifying breaths before it stilled slightly, pulsing in time to his heart.

A body. They'd found a body.

* * *

**I've built walls, **

**A fortress deep and mighty, **

**That none may penetrate. **

**I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain. **

**It's laughter and it's loving I disdain. **

**I am a rock, **

**I am an island.**

* * *

"They only said it might be Doyle's," Cowley said quietly. Bodie nodded, feeling the room spin again.

"Why can't they identify the body?" Bodie demanded hotly, completely at odds to the numb iciness that was creeping up his spine. "What's wrong with it?" Cowley sighed, his hand rubbing across his face as if to scrub the image away.

"It's been badly beaten, Bodie. The locals say it's not anyone they know; there's no ID yet. The police informed us because they know that we are missing agents." Bodie's knees wanted to buckle but some force inside kept him standing ramrod straight. It couldn't be. It couldn't end this way.

Bodie sat in the car, as still and as responsive as a statue. The scenery leapt past him in a dizzying blur. He would much rather be driving – at least that would keep his mind occupied for a while. But Murphy had insisted and now was manoeuvring the Capri down a winding town road, every so often throwing a worried glance in Bodie's direction. The other agent didn't acknowledge him at all. Cowley had asked him if he should send someone else, understanding the struggle between wanting to know and not. But Bodie had shaken his head resolutely; this task would fall to him and no one else.

Bodie's thoughts were now scattered and heavy, weighing down on him. What if it was Doyle? He didn't know what he was going to do, how he was going to react. All he did know that if it really was his partner lying cold and dead, then he was going to do everything he could possibly do to bring them to justice. A grim promise spiked inside his mind. Perhaps the justice would be served outside a court or prison.

But that was only if his fears were confirmed.

Bodie's heart plummeted when the sheet was pulled back to reveal matted, curly hair. Beside him Murphy took a sharp intake of air and closed his eyes. The coroner paused and glanced up at the two men. Shakily Bodie motioned for him to get a move on. The white sheet fell away and Bodie's eyes dragged reluctantly to the face – and relaxed.

Whoever this man was he wasn't Ray Doyle. This man was stockier; possibly older and his nose was a large Roman one despite the battering. The coroner glanced up at them. "Do you know this man?" he asked softly. It was up to Murphy to shake his head and stammer,

"No – no, we don't," Bodie turned on his heel and stalked outside leaving Murphy to thank the man and hurry out after his friend into the watery sunlight.

Bodie was very quiet on the drive home. Murphy kept opening his mouth to say something but inevitably words failed him and he closed it again, looking rather like a shy goldfish. Bodie was looking out the window; not sure whether to relieved or disheartened by their discovery. Finally Murphy said, "We'll find him Bodie." The agent didn't respond.

"Just take me home Murph. Please."

* * *

**I have my books and my poetry to protect me**

**I am shielded in my armor, hiding in my room, safe within my womb**

**I touch no one and no one touches me**

**I am a rock, I am an island**

* * *

Bodie sat on his sofa, watching the snow swirling down outside his window. Murphy had dropped him off and when Bodie had assured him he wasn't going to commit suicide or anything, had grudgingly driven off. Now his thoughts were following the pattern of the snow; he could feel himself sliding away, further inside his armour.

He'd been looking for over a month now, he couldn't think of anyone else to ask, there was nowhere else to go. Bodie lowered his head into his hands and let out a tiny sob. He didn't know what would be worse – finding Doyle's body stashed unceremoniously somewhere, or to go through the rest of his life not ever knowing what happened to his partner. It like Doyle was some ghost of Bodie's imaginings, forever lost with Bodie chasing after a spectral wisp that he could never catch.

"God, Ray, why is it I only have to turn my back for five seconds and something happens to you?" Unsurprisingly the shadows didn't answer. Bodie shifted uncomfortably. Suddenly the doorbell buzzed. Bodie sat there for a few moments longer, debating whether to answer it when he heard the click of the lock. He leapt up, his hand reaching for his gun. With the stealthy tread of a cat he paced to the separating wall of the corridor and the living room.

"It's just me Bodie!"

"Karen." Karen nodded, her brown eyes were sharp as she stared at him. "What are you doing here?" Bodie demanded bluntly.

"I'm coming to see if you're alright." Bodie expelled his breath in an exasperated, almost angry way.

"Of course I'm alright!" He snarled. "My partner's gone missing and could possibly be – be-" he faltered momentarily before continuing, "And I've got everyone playing Dr Ross around me and not a single person cares that Ray's disappeared -"

The slap made his ears ring. Karen stood in front of him, her hand raised, ready. She looked absolutely furious.

"Of course we care that Doyle's gone!" she yelled back at him. "Of course we care that he could be hurt! You may have been his partner Bodie, but a lot of us were his friends and don't you forget that," she was almost quivering with indignation now, raising herself up to her full height, "Jesus, stop acting like the entire world is against you 'cause I assure you, we aren't. We are just doing our jobs and it is high time you did yours!"

Dumbfounded, Bodie started to stammer, "I do my job!"

"Yeah Bodie," Karen re-joined darkly, "you do your job like you're Tommy McKay!" Silence descended like a sheet and she suddenly seemed to deflate a bit, "Oh god, I'm sorry Bodie… I didn't mean…"

"No, no, it's ok," Bodie murmured, staring into the middle distance, "Jesus, you're right. I'm becoming like that crazy bastard." He turned mournful eyes on her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Karen asked gently.

"About what?" Bodie asked, "I think I've made my feelings pretty clear." Karen shook her head.

"No, about what happened that night. What you can remember." She grasped his wrist and steered him towards the sofa and pulled him down onto the material. Bodie glanced at her.

"CI5 already went over the pub with a fine toothed comb,"

"Maybe you'll remember something," Karen coaxed. Finally Bodie tilted his head backwards, resting it on the sofa cushions.

"I took Doyle out for a drink; after the Cameron Case I thought he needed to just relax – I know I did. Now I know that he was supposed be undercover the next day I understand why he was so moody." Bodie sighed, rubbing his hair the wrong way so it stuck up untidily. Karen held up a finger before disappearing into the kitchen, letting Bodie organise his thoughts. Even she knew it would be difficult for Bodie pry everything back from a very stressful month. When she returned she returned with a steaming mug of tea and placed it on the table in front of him.

"Have a drink," she said softly. Bodie smiled weakly at her.

"Thanks love." He took a sip and then continued with his story. "We chatted for a while and I left to get the round and a couple of blokes just picked a fight with me and before I knew it the entire pub was smashing windows," he glanced at the phone operator ruefully, "got knocked out, ended up in hospital and the rest you know." Silence ruled for a bit longer.

"What about before?" Karen asked.

"What do you mean before?"

"Before you went into the pub, I mean." Bodie inclined his head, closing his eyes, trying to remember.

_It had been an icy November night. He had parked further down the car park because it had been busier than usual. He recalled practically tugging Doyle out of the car and then shepherding him over the bright lights calling them. After a bit of protesting Doyle had consented to a few drinks. The street had been practically empty except for three sturdy workmen smoking on the corner. They had paid them little attention, hurrying towards the heat. Bodie had ruffled his partner's hair – much to his chagrin – and pointed up at the streetlight telling Doyle to smile for the camera –_

"Jesus," Bodie said, "we never checked the security camera."

* * *

The projector whirred into life. Bodie had plonked himself down in the chair, his eyes focussed on the screen with an intense purpose. Karen hung around behind him uncomfortably. The young lad on duty had been more than happy to let two CI5 – wow! – agents have a look at the footage and had ushered them into this room so they could watch in peace. Bodie had shooed Karen out of his flat when he had realised and driven them down to the police station in such a state of agitation that Karen was the one to talk to the boy and convince him – not that he needed much convincing – to let them see.

The light flickered into life on the screen. They watched the screen filling with snowflakes – Bodie had forgotten that it had snowed while they were driving down – and then clear again leaving just a grey and white picture. After about ten minutes of watching, Bodie saw the workmen take up position outside the pub, tiny cigarette flames flashed as they were lit. Five more minutes and he watched the four men who had started the pub brawl striding confidently towards the door. The leader stopped beside the workmen and began talking heated to them. Bodie felt the fingers of dread in his gut. Foreboding rising in his throat he saw himself and Doyle jog towards the light, just as the troublemaker slipped inside. The workmen observed them as they passed. Bodie's heart began to thump franticly in his chest and he could sense Karen looking at him confusedly. They saw the brawl flare up after twenty more agonising minutes – when it did the men slipped out of view inside the pub and then one hurried out again, a slender dark form thrown over his shoulder. Even with the poor quality Bodie felt his gasp catch in his throat. Doyle hung limply, his dark curly hair hiding his face. Halfway out of frame he paused, lying Doyle out in the snow in front of a car. Bodie could hardly watch as he bound up his partner's wrists and ankles before fitting a gag over his mouth. The man kept glancing back over his shoulder, obviously waiting for his companions. Lights began to flash in the distance and the other two came haring out, yelling at each other. The first man stuffed Doyle in the boot of the car and then they drove off; just before the police cars came screaming into view.

Bodie couldn't watch anymore. He covered his eyes with his hands, numbness spreading through his body until he couldn't feel anything. He could hear Karen moving to switch the projection off but he didn't care. Doyle had been kidnapped. Those men had kidnapped Doyle. He could feel his emotions shutting down on him.

His nightmares would be strong tonight.

* * *

**And a rock feels no pain.**

**And an island never cries.**


	5. Chapter 5

_Three weeks earlier…_

_He watched the way their prisoner clamped his mouth shut throughout the kicks and the thumps and the questions. It was if he was keeping a physical hold on his words, while they pummelled his skinny frame. But simple beatings weren't his preference. After watching the action for a while he called his deputy over and whispered a command to him in their own language. Then he walked over and knelt next to the agent huddled on the floor. _

"_Not going to talk Mr Doyle?" he asked mockingly. The agent glared at him and spat in response. The man seized a handful of the curly hair and yanked the head up to face him. "I want answers." He slammed the man back onto the floor. Doyle struggled back up, swiping a hand across his face, smearing the blood under his nose. _

_The sound of splashes suddenly bubbled out of the silence. The man watched in pleasure as the agent's face paled and his gaze switched to the door leading away from his cell. "I don't like escape attempts, Mr Doyle," he said, "or do I like convenient memory loss…" his smile was like a feral hyena's. "Let's see we can jog it shall we?" _

_Doyle fought the whole way there._


End file.
